A Rainbow of Colours
by asthefirespread
Summary: "Her dark curls swing from side to side as she skips ahead of us down the lane, right hand clutching tight the picture her father helped her draw this morning. The boy sits on my hip, his arms around my neck, clinging to me tight." A series of Post-Epilogue one shots.
1. Practically Family

**So the story behind this: Some people on my twitter feed were talking about the idea, so it sparked a starting paragraph which eventually turned into this drabble. Shoutout to Kenna for being the biggest Delly fan and for Joy for putting up with me whenever I write. Reviews are lovely - L xo**

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Her dark curls swing from side to side as she skips ahead of us down the lane, right hand clutching tight the picture her father helped her draw this morning. The boy sits on my hip, his arms around my neck, clinging to me tight. Unlike his sister, who is both curious and fearless, he is reserved and anxious, hardly ever letting go of me or his father if possible. When she runs into the lake, diving and splashing, he dips his toe in, just in case.

She waits for me at the junction where the path leading to the Victor's Village joins with another path toward town. We then move away from town, heading up to what used to be the Seam, but is now just any other neighbourhood in District Twelve. Poverty has basically vanished; whilst some families are better off than others, everyone has enough to feed themselves and their family with a little bit to spare. No children need resort to hunting illegally for food anymore, thank god.

Delly is on the front porch already with her son, who sits quietly by her side on the step. He's two years older than Willow and Delly's youngest, although she definitely is in charge when it comes to what they do. Her son has inherited her sweet disposition and willing nature; Willow has my spirit and Peeta's curiosity but also his patience.

She starts running as she approaches the porch and greets Delly with a hug and Abel with a smile. Ruben clings to me until he realises where we are and pokes his head out from my shoulder, a small smile on his lips. He's cautious with new people just as I am, but he knows Delly and opens up more for her than others. Willow and Abel are already running in front of the house playing some sort of game, so I take a seat next to Delly. She knows Ruben won't come over to her like Willow but waves and he gives her a small wave back, untangling himself from me to sit on my lap. He sucks his thumb, a bad habit I've told Peeta countless times we need to stop, but he just smiles and ruffles his hair.

It is late spring now, and the blossom has fallen away to be replaced with bright green leaves, the flowers providing a rainbow of colours. Peeta's been painting them lately, Willow attempting to imitate her father sometimes as well. Ruben and I are usually happy to watch quietly whilst I read him a story.

"Where are the others?" I ask Delly. Part of Abel's ability to cope so well with Willow is his two older sisters, Marlow and Charlotte.

"Marlow's in town with some friends I think. And Charlotte's upstairs reading, but she'll be down soon," Delly smiles. I had forgotten that Marlow was now 13, old enough to go into town with her friends certainly. Soon she'd be interested in boys which terrifies me – I remember holding her at just two days old.

Charlotte comes down not too long afterward. Aged 11 she had decided she's too old to run around with Willow and Abel, and instead comes and sits beside myself and her mother. She's inherited her mother's bubbly personality and talks away about school and a trip she's going on soon, to District 10. It doesn't take long for Ruben to transfer from my lap to hers; Charlotte, besides myself and Peeta, is Ruben's favourite person and he's been known to fall asleep in her lap before.

Willow and Abel eventually tire and come and join us on the porch. Delly brings out cookies and drinks, which is met with delight. Afterward Willow leans against me, tired, which isn't surprising. We were up early and out in the woods this morning whilst I taught her some basic snare skills. Even though she doesn't need to, she's fascinated by hunting and pesters me to teach her everything I know. I refused for a while, but she's just a stubborn as I am and eventually I caved, which of course made Peeta laugh. Before my children I hardly ever gave in to anyone, but there's something about my daughter's bright, inquisitive blue eyes and my son's delicate nature that I can't help but give in to them. I don't spoil them though; that's their father's job through and through.

Her hair is messy from running around so I undo it and braid it back up again. Her hair is more difficult to style than mine – whilst the inherited my dark colour it's her father's curls that fall down her back, although much looser. Ruben's is light blonde, although will probably darken with age, with just a hint of a wave running through it. He is now giggling and laughing, playing some sort of game with Charlotte. Abel is up and about again, kicking a ball around the garden. He tries to get Willow to get up and play with him again but she adamantly refuses, and Abel knows that when Willow says no, she won't budge.

It's getting late now and I think that Delly's husband must be getting home soon. He works in the mines, although they're nothing like they used to be. Much better conditions, better hours and better pay have made the work the thriving industry of District Twelve. Of course Peeta owns the town bakery and I occasionally help out when it's busy and I Delly has a day off to look after Ruben.

Marlow comes back from town sometime late in the afternoon accompanied by Peeta. Willow sees him first, walking up the path, and immediately jumps up and sprints over to him. Peeta pretends to not notice her until the last second, and then picks her up, spinning her around and resting her against his hip, carrying her back up to us. At seven, she is still relatively small for her age but then so am I, and it's hard for me to carry her anymore but Peeta still manages with relative ease.

Halfway up, Willow spots Abel playing a ball game with some other boys a few houses up the road and insists on being let down to go play with them. She's much smaller than the rest of them and I know Peeta's worrying; I won't lie, a part of me is too. But Willow, for all her curiosity and occasional recklessness, is tough and can handle a few nine year old boys for sure.

Charlotte points Peeta a few metres away to Ruben, who squeals and toddles over to his father who easily scoops him up and settles him on his lap as he sits next to me. Delly, who's been in the kitchen, comes back outside beaming, "Peeta! What are you doing here?"

"I was just about to ask myself the same question," I mutter under my breath, in a pretend annoyed voice.

Peeta smirks at me for a second before answering, "Well Marlow popped in for a chat when she was with her friends and Katniss told me she was coming over earlier, so I decided to leave the bakery early and come over, if that's okay."

"Peeta, _of course_ it's okay. You can stay for dinner if you want!" She smiles warmly, going back to the kitchen to presumably start making dinner, for which I'm glad. It gives Peeta no time to argue out of politeness. Marlow follows her mother inside and Charlotte is once again distracted by Ruben asking to play another game. I lean my head on Peeta's shoulder and he takes my hand.

"Hey," I whisper in his ear and he chuckles. It's become a kind of joke between us that ever since Willow was born, they've taken up so much of our time and attention we hardly ever even say hi when reunited after Peeta's been at the bakery all day. We sit quietly, just enjoying each other's quiet company. Something we had so much of before seems so scarce since we had Willow and Ruben, and now they're distracted by Delly's children I let myself relax for once.

Not that I mind it, of course. The early mornings, the being busy all the time, constantly entertaining one or both of my children. Now Willow is in school it's slightly easier, but I like having something to do, a purpose once again. Before there wasn't enough to do, too many quiet moments, too much silence. I'm not sure what I'll do when Ruben goes and I have the house to myself during the day again. Delly's suggested we could do things in town that they run on her days off from working part time in the shop. Maybe I will.

But I try not to think about any of that. Thinking about the future and the silences, and even worse, the questions that I know will start soon, will all just get on top of me. They've started already, although harmless for now. _Why are you and daddy in one of the pictures in our history book? And why do you look so fancy?_ She knows bits and pieces and soon he will too. And it terrifies me still.

Peeta must sense me tensing because I feel his hand squeezing mine and his forehead against my temple. Whispering his usual things, words repeated so many times over the last twenty or so years. But they work, and I come back, slowly.

Not soon enough though. When I focus in on the world in front of me, Willow is standing there holding a ball, Abel stood not far behind, staring. She looks far too worried for her age, but it's a look that comes with her mama's nightmares and here daddy's flashbacks.

"Mama what's wrong?"

"Nothing, little duck, I promise," I say, although not very convincingly. It doesn't work, and Willow drops her ball and comes over, throwing her arms around my neck. I hold my daughter close, so sorry that I have to put her through this and so thankful I have her all the same. It's hard to comprehend, holding her in my arms, hearing my son's laughter not too far away that I didn't want them for so long. But I have them now. And that's what matters.

"It'll be okay Mama," she whispers in my ear, pulling away and giving me a big smile. She sees so much good in the world, like her father, forever the optimist. I nod, giving her a small smile in return.

"Why don't you go see if Aunty Delly needs any help making dinner?" I suggest. Even though neither Peeta nor I are related to Delly, she and Peeta could pass for being relatives and we spend so much time here that they have become practically family. She nods enthusiastically and runs inside, her curls bouncing against her back, the sound of my sons giggle chiming through the air.


	2. A Quiet Day

**Once again, people on my twitter feed inspire me to write post-epilogue, so I guess this will turn into a series of mostly fluffy one-shots involving Peeta, Katniss and their kids. Reviews are lovely!**

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She takes a deep breath. Stands up straight, lifting the bow until the arrow rests beside her lips. Pulls the string as tightly as she can – and for a moment she is completely still, her eyes locked on her target in front of her. And then she releases, the arrow flying through the air and lodging itself in the tree she aimed at. Not quite on target, but not bad for her first time either. Her eyes narrow in a scowl that mirrors mine exactly, and I suppress a smile.

"You can't expect to be perfect on your first time," I tell her. She turns to me, her braids swinging. She wanted to wear her dark curls down today, but I reasoned with her that it would be highly impractical shooting in the woods, so she immediately insisted on her hair being put in two braids.

"I bet you were," she pouts sitting on the rock beside me. I smile and put my arm around her. At eight years old she's at a wonderful age where I can take her out in the woods without holding her hand and yet she still thinks her mama and daddy are the greatest people in the world.

"Not a chance little duck," I say. "In fact I'm almost sure I missed the tree altogether."

"Really?" she asks in disbelief, her nose wrinkling slightly.

"It's all about practice. The more you do it the better you'll get," I tell her. I omit the part where I had to practice in order to survive, to simply have food on the table. She knows about some things – about the games, how Peeta and I were involved in bringing them to an end – but she doesn't yet understand the harshness of the world we grew up in.

Without a word, she rises from her perch, picking up the bow I made for her 8th birthday and the arrows I fashioned, and aims again at the tree. I let her keep practising until mid-afternoon, when we pull at least a dozen arrows out of the tree and start to make our way home. "We'd better go and pick up Ruben. Your daddy's probably had a busy day managing him at work."

I let her carry her bow and arrow back through the meadow, something her father would probably have a panic about. Whilst she tends to not think her actions through like me, she's smart about some things, particularly this. After two years of begging and pleading to try shooting, she knows to be sensible right now.

As we walk through town, Willow attracts an assortment of hellos and 'just like your mother eh?' from passers-by. She tends to attract smiles on a normal day; her bubbly personality and thirst for knowledge tends to have that effect on people. When we reach the bakery we enter through the back door so as not to attract attention. She leaves her bow and arrows outside and takes her boots off before running in. I linger at the door.

"Well, look who it is!" I hear one of Peeta's assistants calling out. Normally Willow spends any spare moment with her father in the bakery, so much so most of them have adopted nicknames for her.

"Daddy!" I hear her shout out as I linger in the doorway. From my view I see her lifted up into her father's arms as he spins her around, her giggle filling up the room. It's moments like these when I'm so thankful I got up out of that chair all those years ago, that I let him back in my life, that I finally said yes. I still remember his smile on the day she was born – I don't think he'd smiled like that since the day of our toasting.

He notices her hair in the two braids, her jacket, her boots in the doorway and then looks up at me with what I'm sure are tears in his eyes. He puts Willow down and makes his way through the kitchen over to me, pulling me into his side. I wrap my arm around his waist and rest my head on his shoulder as he places a kiss on my forehead.

"She asked for the braids, I promise," I say before he can. The last time she wore her hair in two braids had been on her first day of school when she insisted, and I remember after waving her off at the gate he scolded me for almost making him cry in front of the other parents.

I'm almost lost in my own little world when I hear my son scream and my instinct kicks in. I look up quickly but it is just to the site of him being chased by his older sister, flour streaked across both his cheeks and hidden in his blond hair. Peeta mutters something about it being a waste but I know he's not angry; in fact I don't think he's ever been angry at our children. I relax back against Peeta as Willow catches her little brother, pinning him to the floor before they are scolded by one of Peeta's helpers.

"Almost as much trouble as your parents," I hear her mutter, although she smiles and winks at us, a twinkle in her eye.

As soon as Ruben is released from his sister's grasp, he runs up to me and I scoop him up and place him on my hip, where he normally rests. At the age of four, he's looking more and more like how I remember Peeta on our first day at school, the only difference being his straighter hair and light grey eyes.

"Have you had a good day?" I ask him. He nods contentedly, snuggling into my neck. Peeta leans over, wiping the flour off of his face and shaking his head.

"I'd better let you get on," I say to Peeta, although I don't make any attempt to pull away. One of his assistants, who is playing with Willow, must hear me.

"Go home Peeta, you haven't had an afternoon off in months," she says. "You deserve it."

"Yes daddy! We can go home and I can show you my shooting," Willow pipes up, skipping over toward us. She stares up at him with her big blue eyes that neither of us can say no to, and I know his answer before he even opens his mouth.

"If you're sure," he says. She insists and he goes and gathers up a few things, giving out orders to do before the end of the day and meets us by the back door about five minutes later. Willow and Ruben set off slightly ahead, having already put their shoes back on, and she tells him about her day whilst holding his hand. They can be rough at times, but when it comes down to it, Willow is fiercely protective of her shy little brother. Peeta takes my hand and we walk home in the afternoon sunshine, letting our children walk about a couple of metres in front of us, just out of earshot.

"How was she today?" he asks once we've made it through town.

"She wanted to be perfect first time of course," I say. "She's not bad though. She hit the tree about a dozen times although none were on target. It'll be a while before she aims at anything moving though."

"Do you intend on her aiming at anything moving?" he asks seriously. Peeta and I have always tried to provide our children with things we didn't have growing up but still making them aware of how precious things like food are. I still hunt because it keeps me busy and Willow knows that, she's seen me a few times. At first she was slightly shocked when I picked up the dead animal and put it in my sack. But she braved watching me skin it and prepare it without too much fuss.

"She's tougher than you think," I say, because it's true. Whilst she is far more bubbly and thoughtless than her younger brother, she also has a quiet maturity that's seemed more evident of late. I remember when she came home after her first lesson about The Hunger Games, and she appeared more thoughtful than shocked. Of course, at her age they don't go into detail, but she knows the basic principle – and I remember her asking me, after learning of my involvement if I killed anybody, and I quietly replied yes that she didn't react with disgust. Instead she put her arms around me and said _'they were mean for making you do that'_.

Peeta doesn't reply, just squeezes my hand as we walk home. When we get home, he ends up baking with the children for the rest of the afternoon. I watch for a while, but then they send me away telling me it's a surprise for later. I go upstairs, and wander for a while, but end up in the place I always do when I have no purpose. Her room.

I don't cry for hours like I used to. Instead I sit on her bed, unchanged from the way it was left twenty three years ago and think about her. I'm not sure how long I'm there, but I find myself curled up on her bed when I hear the patter of my son's footsteps down the hall, his sweet voice calling out for 'mama'.

"In here," I call out, and a minute later his face appears in the doorway. He lingers, and then slowly makes his way forward over to me.

"Are you sad, mama?" he asks. His eyes are wide and concerned as he reaches out his tiny hand toward me. I make myself sit up and lift him up onto my lap. Instead of sitting down, he stands on my legs so he can look me in the eye.

"A little. But I'll be okay," I say. This doesn't appear to reassure him though, and he wraps his arms around my neck and I hold him close. It still amazes me how intuitive he is. My son, who's terrified if a fly lands on his arm, always knows when anything's upset me.

"Was this Auntie Prim's room?" he asks. I nod. "It's very pretty."

I smile. "Now what were you originally coming to get me for?"

His face lights up, "Dinner's ready! And we have a surprise for you after!"

"Hmm, I wonder what that is." He giggles as if I know nothing and I let him lead me down the stairs, his hand curled around my fingers.

Peeta's made lamb stew and after dinner I'm presented with a cake and some cheese buns that Peeta managed to sneak home from the bakery. We move to the living room after dinner as we usually do so Peeta can watch the news and the children can play together and tire each other out. I find Willow paying more attention to the news than usual, which annoys her brother as she is distracted from their game. I curl up beside Peeta, not particularly paying attention to the news, just content to sit there with him.

After a while, Peeta turns and whispers quietly to me, "Katniss look."

I raise my head to the sight of my children curled up in blankets on the floor in front of the fire fast asleep. "That was quick."

"They've both had busy days. Ruben kept everyone on their toes today"

"Really?" I ask. "That's not like him."

"Not causing mayhem or anything. Just wondering around, hiding in places he shouldn't and scaring people when they go to get some ingredients out of a cupboard and find him instead." I can't help laughing at the image of quiet little Ruben innocently playing his favourite game, hide-and-seek, and frightening half of the bakery staff in the process.

Soon enough we're both yawning too and we carry the children up to bed and tuck them in. Ruben doesn't stir one bit, but when I go to kiss Willow on the head her eyes flicker and she gives a small sweet smile, before drifting off again. I meet Peeta back in our room and find him already under the covers, a sleepy smile playing on his lips. I quickly change and climb under with him. He pulls me close and I contentedly rest my head against his chest.

"Ruben said you were sad earlier," Peeta says as I'm about to drift off. I pull back and am met with a concerned stare.

"I went for a wander and ended up in her room." I don't need to say her name for Peeta to know. He just knows. He always does. "I'm okay now. Thank you for the cake, and today." He smiles, relieved, leans forward and kisses me.

We pull away and I find myself just quietly staring at him, something that has come to be a luxury. It's odd – before Willow was born, we had an abundance of time to just spend together. But for the last eight years, between the children and Peeta running the bakery and taking care of Haymitch, it's been difficult to have much time together alone. But we find each other in times like these, late nights and early mornings in bed, walks home whilst the children walk ahead, in the kitchen whilst they play in their rooms upstairs. His hand finds mine and I know he's there. Always.


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